Seagull chick or cunning fox
Polly, one of my neighbours, started feeding a small fox cub after finding him apparently lost and bewildered in her back garden. His deep brown eyes, almost as large as his tiny head, melted her heart against her better judgement. Yes, she knew he was counted as vermin by some, and shot by others, but how could she resist?
At first, it was just saucers of milk. Then little scraps of leftovers. By the time he was fully grown, he could forage for himself and was absent from his spot under the shed for nights on end, but Polly continued to leave out his supper.
In short, she had come to look on Mr Foxy as a sort of pet. Unlike the seagulls that had been nesting on her roof since moving into her coastal haven 15 years ago. Demanding, noisy, menacing (a woman in Canterbury has been reduced to wearing a colander on her head to avert attack) nobody thinks of them as ‘pets’.
Seagulls are the weapon dogs of the avian family, except they are protected by an RSPB red rating – the same status as owls or robins. The costs of attempting to rid yourself of them are punitive. Recently, the council has had to spend vast sums supplying homeowners without wheelie bins with expensive, seagullproof, specially woven polypropylene sacks into which ‘normal’ bags can be entrusted and sealed off with a Velcro lid.
However, they could have just given their money to Polly. Because where the law, and the binmen, have failed, Polly has succeeded. It isn’t completely clear from this photograph taken last week by Alastair Hendy on his iPhone that it was Polly’s hand-reared ‘pet’ out on the tiles – but urban foxes have a range of 10 hectares and Alastair’s shop is only on the high street.
What is clear is that foxes can climb. And do – often. As we can see from this crafty animal taking a look at his ‘chick’ supper. His plan? To kick the chicks out of their nest and onto the ground below, thereby allowing time to escape their hysterical dive-bombing parents and chew at his leisure.
‘Nature’, as Lord Tennyson poetically put it, is ‘red in tooth and claw.’ And Mr Foxy has sharp sets of both.
Next week: The rare qualities of Speckled Wood.
At first, it was just saucers of milk. Then little scraps of leftovers. By the time he was fully grown, he could forage for himself and was absent from his spot under the shed for nights on end, but Polly continued to leave out his supper.
In short, she had come to look on Mr Foxy as a sort of pet. Unlike the seagulls that had been nesting on her roof since moving into her coastal haven 15 years ago. Demanding, noisy, menacing (a woman in Canterbury has been reduced to wearing a colander on her head to avert attack) nobody thinks of them as ‘pets’.
Seagulls are the weapon dogs of the avian family, except they are protected by an RSPB red rating – the same status as owls or robins. The costs of attempting to rid yourself of them are punitive. Recently, the council has had to spend vast sums supplying homeowners without wheelie bins with expensive, seagullproof, specially woven polypropylene sacks into which ‘normal’ bags can be entrusted and sealed off with a Velcro lid.
However, they could have just given their money to Polly. Because where the law, and the binmen, have failed, Polly has succeeded. It isn’t completely clear from this photograph taken last week by Alastair Hendy on his iPhone that it was Polly’s hand-reared ‘pet’ out on the tiles – but urban foxes have a range of 10 hectares and Alastair’s shop is only on the high street.
What is clear is that foxes can climb. And do – often. As we can see from this crafty animal taking a look at his ‘chick’ supper. His plan? To kick the chicks out of their nest and onto the ground below, thereby allowing time to escape their hysterical dive-bombing parents and chew at his leisure.
‘Nature’, as Lord Tennyson poetically put it, is ‘red in tooth and claw.’ And Mr Foxy has sharp sets of both.
Next week: The rare qualities of Speckled Wood.